Titanic
by A. Sade
Summary: April 1912. Arthur Pendragon and Merlin Emrys board the illustrious Titanic, Arthur bound by his Father's wishes and a future that promises him nothing, Merlin bound by a promise to his mother and a future that promises everything.
1. Chapter 1

**Ok, so here's chapter one of lord knows how many. It's Merlin/Arthur AU, set on the ill-fated Titanic. I hope you enjoy and excuse my mediocre writing. Review if you have a moment :) **

**X**

**A. Sade.**

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><p>"This is your uniform. Keep it clean."<p>

Merlin nodded, taking the starch-white jacket and dark trousers that were now being pushed across the table, pulling them him into his arms. They were going to itch horribly, but Merlin was used to clothes that scratched and irritated, so he'd be able to bare it without too much grievance. He met Gaius' eye, the old man now seated across from him, white hair hanging around his face in a most unusual fashion, but uniform pristine none the less. Merlin eyed it. He'd never been able to keep clothes that clean in his life. He was a little disconcerted by the intensity of the stare with which the old man was surveying him but he seemed kind enough, no malice, and his mother liked him, so Merlin let his lips curl into a tentative smile, hoping Gaius might return it. Gaius raised an eyebrow. The height said eyebrow reached was impressive. Merlin's smile faded a little.

"I've assigned you a specific room to attend." Gaius said, pulling something from his pocket. Merlin had been told he'd be at the mercy of some rich asshole the moment he'd set foot on the ship, although, the way Gaius phrased it was a lot kinder than the words chosen by the serving boy he'd run into whilst awaiting inspection for lice.

"You will report there immediately and await our guests' arrival," Gaius continued, "Mr Uther Pendragon will direct you as he wishes and you will follow his orders to the letter."

Merlin opened his mouth to ask if he should change here or-

"You will not speak out of turn, you will not question him, you will sleep when he says you may sleep and you will piss when he says you will piss."

Merlin closed his mouth and swallowed, trying to keep his eyes from widening. He had a weak bladder and a mouth that never shut up. Mr Pendragon had better be a reasonable man.

"You will be at his beck and call until this ship has docked in New York and Mr Pendragon is safely ashore. Understand?"

Merlin nodded a little dumbly, then Gaius pushed a scrap of paper toward him, and as Merlin picked it up he saw the room number etched in blotched ink. '_Room 214 – Bridge Deck'. _He glanced up at Gaius, unsure if he should go now or wait, fingers fidgeting at the paper.

"Merlin." Gaius said, fixing him with a warning stare, "I'm doing this as a favour to your mother. If there are complaints of your service, then my neck is on the line. So please, do not disappoint me."

Merlin managed to stammer out that he wouldn't, and then Gaius smiled at him, one Merlin could have used at the start of this conversation, because the smile put him at ease, and Gaius suddenly looked warmer, and Merlin found himself grinning back.

"The door's always open, Merlin." And as Gaius leant back in his chair, Merlin took that as his queue to leave.

He hurried out the door and down the corridor, looking for the right set of stairs to take him to the right deck. The ship was a maze. Merlin got lost finding his way to the shops in his own home town for God's sake. How was he going to manage in a metal labyrinth?

He'd been told there would be a small room for him just off his masters' quarters, so Merlin slipped into the servants' common room to change, pulling on the slightly too loose trousers and snug fitting jacket, which, as he predicted, itched horribly, and he shoved his old clothes in his satchel, trying once again to flatten his hair, and he emerged, feeling a good deal more important than when he'd ducked into the room, thinking that maybe white might be a good colour on him.

Merlin's confusion in navigating the ships corridors only increased tenfold as he tried to find the right room, accidently sending other attendants and one angry crewmember flying as he became more anxious. It was nearly eleven, and if he wasn't in the room when Mr Pendragon arrived he knew there'd be trouble. He finally found the right deck, dodging people where he could, taking the looks of affrontation in his stride, and he was almost sent flying over the railing as he collided with someone rather broader than Merlin, with blonde hair, blue eyes and a rather haughty expression. Merlin gasped as his breath left him, grabbing the railing for support, apologising profusely – apologies the blonde prat didn't seem to hear over his own outraged shout, and before he could receive some sort of reprimand for being the clumsiest person on the planet he scurried away, looking to take refuge in the room he's been assigned to.

Room 214 was breath-taking. Merlin was sure every first class room was. But as he stood, panting slightly, in the middle of the luxurious space he felt his jaw drop slightly, the rich red and gold interior warm and welcoming, the furniture pieces looking as though each cost more than his entire house, and Merlin swallowed, shaking his head, muttering quietly about unnecessary expenditure.

He glanced around, checking all the lamps were lit, checking there was nothing out of place, and then he found his own room. Well, his cupboard. There was a dingy bed, one light, and a tiny drawer set. Merlin sighed, setting his bag down on the bed and his book on the bedside table, and he retreated, grateful that he at least had his own private space in which he could relax. If he ever got the chance that was.

Tugging at the collar of the straight jacket that is his uniform, Merlin moved back out into the main room, trying to work out how to stand, settling for hands clasped behind his back, chest puffed out, and as he waited he hummed under his breath.

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><p>Arthur Pendragon boarded the Titanic at ten thirty in the morning. His father led the way from the car that dropped them from the dock, giving orders left right and centre, ordering people to give orders to people, whilst Arthur took in everything around him, every detail of the enormous ship, its sharp stern, four huge boilers, splendour and wealth emanating from every inch of gleaming iron. The dock stank, but still, Arthur would rather stay down here amidst the rotting fish and the riff raff than board that ship. He felt a firm hand grasp his shoulder, his father's voice in his ear, and Arthur found he didn't have the will to forage a smile.<p>

"Well, son. Isn't she magnificent?" Uther proclaimed, waving a dramatic arm across the landscape of Arthur's view. Arthur stared up at it, trying to arrange his features into some semblance of an appropriate expression. Uther glanced at his son's face and the grip on his shoulder tightened.

"Nothing empresses you, eh?"

Arthur made to answer, but Valiant, Uther's body guard, cut in.

"Spoiled, Sir." He said with a sneer, one Uther seemed to believe to be a jesting grin, and he clapped Arthur on the back with perhaps more force than necessary, and laughed.

"That he is. That he is."

Arthur felt his jaw tense as he slipped his hands into his pockets, keeping his tongue behind his teeth. It wasn't his fault his father had lavished him with unnecessary grandeur for nineteen years, nor was it his fault that his father didn't know him well enough to tell that the Titanic had indeed impressed his son, Arthur just wasn't the type to go on about it.

Uther, on the other hand, loved to go on about the splendour that he could afford, and he was doing it now, leading them across the dock, listing more than likely inaccurate figures ascertaining to deck space and carat gold of the napkin holders.

As they boarded the ship, Arthur took one last look over his shoulder, taking in the slightly overcast sky, the smell of the air, everything he was going to miss whilst chained up in America with whoever this Morgana half-sister of his was, and another woman, Mithian, to whom he was intended. Well. His father thought so. Arthur had other ideas about that, ones he wouldn't dare voice to his father. He'd likely be shot.

As they moved through the ship, Arthur paid attention to the detail of the interior, the luxurious…everything. He ventured that most of the furnishings on this ship would go completely unnoticed yet probably cost more than most people made in their lifetime. His father had said with pride and arrogance that on Titanic, no expense had been spared, it seemed he was right. Ridiculous.

As they moved along the bridge deck Arthur caught a glance of the sky outside. The engines were running and it was minutes to eleven, due to leave any minute, and Arthur felt an inappropriate longing to join the masses of the third class plebeians and wave goodbye to no one in particular. He wouldn't of course. He had no place among them, not to mention the outrage he'd suffer at such an insolent action, but as his father insisted on examining the promanaire, Arthur got a breath a fresh air at least. He breathed deeply, staring out at the dark blue meeting light blue, watching where sky met sea, with disdain. The horizon was a trick of the light, unreachable, a place of bliss many believed existed because they caught a glimpse of it, but to it they would never get.

It reminded Arthur of a point in his life in which his father might leave him to his own. When he might be free of the pressures weighing on his shoulders, pressures others considered an honour rather than a burden. But they were like chains; the arranged marriage, the position he had in his father's oil firm, the name he bore. It seemed that nothing was too good for a Pendragon, yet nothing was good enough.

Arthur was just contemplating throwing himself overboard and swimming back into the harbour when something collided with his back. He stumbled slightly, his aggravation turning on an unruly haired and rather pale skinned man with bright eyes and ridiculous ears, his cheekbones like razors, jutting out at sharp angles, and Arthur found himself with his mouth open, half in fascination, half indignation. The man was donned in a white coat, so he seemed to be a member of staff, though he looked much less presentable than the other starched collars Arthur had seen so far. He apologised without meeting Arthur's eye, in too much of a hurry to observe proper manner to his superior, and before Arthur could shout after him he was darting away down the deck, dodging people and soon he'd disappeared. Arthur glared after him, wiping his coat down, muttering about the nerve of some people. Titanic might have been of the highest quality when it came to size, grandeur, and luxury, but the staff was obviously as common and as disappointing as on any other ship. Pity.

Uther and Valiant appeared by Arthur's side, urging him forward, Uther having an itch for a cigar and a brandy, eager to see their room, and eager then to meet with Caerleon, a business associate whom Uther enjoyed ridiculing where possible, probably over room size on this occasion, though Arthur cared little. He sighed and followed, rubbing his back where the young man had hit. For someone so slight, he had surely hit hard. If he saw him again, he'd force an appropriate apology from him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi Guys, here's chapter two :) I'm sorry there was a few day delay, college it absolutely crazy at the moment, and I still have that JCS fic to get through! Gah.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and if you get a chance, please review, I really appreciate them :)**

**x**

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><p>Merlin soon got tired with his chest puffed out, and his hands were clammy from being clasped behind his back. He sighed impatiently. He might be a servant but <em>come on<em>, he didn't want to wait around all day so he could kiss ass and haul bags around left right and centre. He wiped his hands on his trousers, letting out a long breath and glancing around the room again. It was rather difficult to believe that he'd gone from scrubbing manure and mud covered boots in a dank old basement, living on table scraps and freezing his arse off every night, to standing in a room as lavish and warm as this one, well clothed and with a hot meal waiting for him at the end of the day - all within the space of forty eight hours. He was really going to America. He was on his way. America; a place where he could earn some real money, where he could turn his life around and be somebody, anybody other than who he'd been, where he could make something of himself.

The gold clock on the mantle-piece chimed eleven, and he fixed his eyes on it, the way it reflected everything in the room, listening to the lazy sound, and he found himself yawning widely. He was exhausted already, having been up hours before dawn to travel to the coast, unwilling to sacrifice even an evening of his mother's company to save him some sleep. Besides, he couldn't have afforded the seaside accommodation, not with the celebrations going on everywhere.

The door opened and Merlin jumped, turning sharply and trying to stifle the yawn as best he could, hands flinging themselves behind his back and chest desperately jutting outward in an attempt to appear more impressive to his meal ticket, but the flurry of movement did little except to cause Merlin to stumble backwards, face contorted, until he caught himself just in time, three sets of eyes a burning witness to his mishap.

"Well." Came a voice, and Merlin sheepishly met the first pair of grey eyes, taking in the greying hair, fine suit, thick coat and walking stick. The man was staring at him with distaste, giving him the once over, and Merlin tried feebly to straighten as he did so. Of course this was how his new master would find him, the stumbling idiot he was. "What is your name, boy?" Asked the ageing aristocrat, and Merlin licked his lips, murmuring, "Merlin, Sir."

"What Kind of name is that?" Uther asked, face looking as though he'd smelled something bad.

"An unfortunate one… Sir." He'd heard the quips before; he should have expected them from first class assholes as much as he did from peasant children. Merlin let his eyes wander a moment, and they fell on the man next to Uther, almost a full head taller, muscle abound, dark hair and cruel eyes. Merlin didn't like the look of him at all. Uther seemed to notice Merlin's stare and he laughed, rather humourlessly.

"Yes. This is Valiant, my manservant, the one you will answer to if you displease me."

Merlin swallowed, and then frowned slightly, confused. If Uther already had a manservant as such, why did he need…?

"And this is my son, Arthur."

Merlin turned to take in the third, silent member of their party, and he felt a ripple of worry move through his body. The blonde prat he'd smacked into. Brilliant. Arthur was staring at him as though he were a chore he would give anything not to do, and Merlin took in just how blue his eyes were. He was a real typical blonde hair blue eyed masterpiece, probably as arrogant as anything, and with the shape he looked to be in under the dark jacket, Merlin supposed he'd enjoyed beating up kids like him at school. Prat.

"Father, I really don't-"

"Merlin," Uther cut across the impeccable blonde. "You will attend Arthur. That is your duty along with ensuring our rooms are warm and ready for when we wish to return and retire here. You will do as Arthur asks unless I disapprove." He gave his son a clap on the back which looked more like a belt than anything else. Arthur took it, eyes not leaving Merlin, something mixing with the distaste, something Merlin really didn't bother to study. He was probably wondering if he could get away with throwing Merlin overboard.

Merlin nodded to Uther. "Yes Sir." He was regretting this job more and more, despite the comfort and warmth of the room. His jacket was itching and a little too tight, and if he had to scrub floors or some sadistic chore in it he would just have to plain refuse. He met Arthur's gaze again, holding it this time, a touch of defiance in his own, and he saw the flicker in Arthur's eyes as he noticed it. To Merlin's annoyance, he broke the gaze, looking bored.

Uther spent a good ten minutes examining the rooms, running his fingers over the surfaces, checking for dust, which Merlin had already done, touching objects here and there, almost in the fashion of marking his territory. Merlin could feel Arthur's eyes on him again, but this time he didn't bother to meet them, ignoring the irritation of it, standing ready and in what he hoped was a dignified manner as Uther moved from room to room, and as he removed his over coat, Merlin took it, amazed by the weight, and he hung it up in the richly varnished closet. Uther seemed satisfied enough with the room, and he then looked to Merlin once more.

"Our luggage will be delivered here shortly." He said with bordering disinterest. "See that you are here to receive it, and ensure you stow it in our respective rooms. We will be back to dress before dinner."

"Yes Sir."

"Arthur, give the boy your coat, the reading room will be heated."

Merlin turned to face the blonde, and as he studied his face, he decided that Arthur was more than likely his own age, if not a year or two older. It made Merlin feel rather bitter at the privilege afforded to some men just because Daddy had some money. The prat was probably useless, like the rest of the men his age, drinking and womanising and wasting money while people like Merlin huddled under a raggy blanket hoping the table scraps weren't all bone and no meat.

Arthur begrudgingly removed his coat and handed it over, and Merlin nodded, saying "Thank you, _Sir_," and he paused, seeing something flicker in Arthur's eyes, unsure what it was, and he frowned slightly, smirk slipping, because the blue eyes seemed bluer, like the sky, or maybe the sea. Merlin mentally scolded himself. How brilliantly poetic.

Valiant opened the door for Uther, and Arthur followed him outside, muttering to Merlin that he could stay there. How utterly kind, thought Merlin sarcastically, watching them go. As the door shut behind the massive manservant, Merlin rolled his eyes, hanging up Arthur's coat, tugging at the collar of his own.

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><p>Arthur's hands were fists in his pockets as he followed his father down the first class corridor, no longer paying attention to the décor or the people, more consumed with frustration at his own misfortune. Of all the serving men on the bloody Titanic, he had to be landed with the clumsy idiot with the ridiculous ears and the piercing stare. Arthur wasn't sure why he was so angry, because clearly, now that this Merlin idiot was his personal server, he could order him to do what he liked, stay a hundred feet away from him at all times maybe, clean the floor with a toothbrush. Arthur let out a huff of breath, knowing he wouldn't do that, but he couldn't get the way merlin had said 'Yes Sir,' out of his mind, the slight smirk of his lips, that unholy tight jacket. Arthur felt the familiar itch, and he swallowed. He'd not had the itch in almost two months. He'd been good, so good, and now he was stuck on a ship, heading immediately to a room full of old men full of hot air, where he knew he'd find no relief from what plagued him. Arthur was ready to punch someone. Maybe Merlin, because, after all, he'd caused it.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry it's been so long! I'll have more soon. Review if you have a moment!**

**Warning: This chapter may contain triggers for depression/thoughts of suicide. **

Merlin tugged at the collar of his starch white jacket for perhaps the hundredth time, swallowing in a vain attempt to moisten his throat. Sweat clung to his forehead, droplets running down his nose, down the back of his neck. His jacket clung to him more viciously than ever, the perspiration marrying it thickly to his back, he could feel the moisture slick under his arms, between his legs, every unpleasant, impossible, place, and Merlin decided that if he had to carry on one more minute he'd simply jump off the bloody ship and take his chances in the freezing ocean. The thought of the cool water alone was enough to make him dizzy with desire.

He'd been hauling luggage for over an hour. Seemingly the Pendragons had decided to pack every item they possessed into a never-ending stream of luggage, perhaps because they were sadists, perhaps because Karma was using them as puppets with which to torture Merlin, but either way, the baggage was there.. At first it hadn't appeared so bad, the collection of trunks and cases destined for the luxurious room no more than two apiece. Merlin had carried them up to the Bridge Deck, checked the labels and stowed each case neatly in the appropriate room, he'd lit the lamps and started the fire in preparation for his master's return, but had then been summoned by a rather irate member of staff who ordered him back down to the luggage deck. Apparently the remainder of the Pendragon baggage had yet to be packed and stored on the lower level, so Merlin had been enslaved into dragging cases with what felt like solid rock inside up and down gruelling staircases, the heat of the boilers one level below near suffocating him. He worked alone and without help, the deck master merely raising his head from his paper to make a snide remark about the slowness of Merlin's pace, which Merlin found rather rich of him seeing as, by the look of him, it seemed the only exercise that man received was to walk from his chair to the table to eat his undoubtedly gruesomely large dinners.

By the time he was finished, Merlin was a wreck -sweating, panting, light headed – but he had no choice but to return straight to the room to await the men on their return from their excursion. He tried to wipe the sweat from his forehead, stayed out on deck as long as possible in an attempt to cool down and to alleviate any possible smell, but all too soon he was back in the suffocating warmth of the fire lit room, praying to God that he would go mostly unnoticed.

The door finally opened, and Merlin swallowed, standing to attention as best he could. Valiant entered first, brow furrowed and shoulders squared, and as his eyes fell upon Merlin he eyed him with displeasure, moving into the room and standing by the door. Uther followed, removing his gloves as he moved forward, finishing a sentence about tax deduction, he took a breath as if to continue, but paused as his eyes fell on Merlin, lips parted and eyes sharpening as they surveyed him. Merlin wanted to cringe. He must have looked worse than he'd thought. The third figure to enter barely made it through the door before stopping near dead still and staring at him, eyes moving over every inch of clinging material. Merlin ignored the blue eyes, not bothered to meet them and observe the contempt he knew he'd find. Uther held out his gloves, as though almost unwilling to hand them over to one such as the sweaty mess in front of him, and he cleared his throat.

"And what, may I ask, have you been doing?"

Merlin stepped forward and took them carefully, his cheeks burning partly from heat and partly from embarrassment.

"I've been transporting your luggage, Sir." Merlin bowed ever so slightly and then added, "All of it."

Uther stared a moment, in fact, all three of them did. Merlin felt like a freak from one of the travelling circuses, something to be laughed at, and there was certainly amusement in Uther's voice as he spoke.

"Luggage. Dear me. Let's hope we don't wear you out over this trip, my boy. We might require you to pull out a chair at some stage, Lord help us you might faint."

Merlin tensed his jaw, doing his best to remain placid, not to rise to the bait. He'd like to see Uther haul that lot the half mile Merlin had. Valiant let out a huff of judgement, and Merlin could feel Arthur's eyes burning into his skin, so he purposefully ignored them both.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Sirs?" asked Merlin, mostly through his teeth.

Uther moved lazily across the room, heading toward the larger suite. "We will dress for dinner now, Valiant can attend me, and you may attend Arthur."

Merlin nodded, unwillingly glancing in Arthur's direction only to find him halfway across the room, making for his own suite, so he followed at a slower pace, standing just inside the doorway as he reached it. Arthur was tugging off the cravat he had on, throwing it at the bed as though it were offending him somehow, his back to Merlin, and Merlin couldn't help but look over the strong shoulders, the defined waist, the taught-

"What can I do for you, _Sir_?" Merlin asked, trying to keep the contempt from his voice. Arthur seemed to tense. Perhaps he hadn't been successful. The blonde prat tore his jacket from his shoulders, still facing away from him, Merlin's eyes watching the shift of muscle concealed by the shit and waistcoat, and he hissed at him, voice like razors; "Just keep out of my way. Just get out."

Merlin blinked, folding his arms, a droplet of sweat teasing its way down his back. "I beg your pardon, Your Majesty." He muttered, unable to keep his frustration contained any longer. Arthur's head snapped over his shoulder, the heated glare marring his perfect features. Their eyes locked and Merlin couldn't decide if Arthur looked or if he felt angrier, his own eyes narrowing slightly as Arthur parted his lips and took in a breath. "Get. Out." Arthur said, and Merlin was surprised to find a tremor in his voice, part of it from anger, but another part something else entirely. Merlin wiped his hand across his sweaty brow and he rolled his eyes. "With _pleasure_, Sir." He muttered, and he turned and made a beeline for the fresh air outside, leaving Arthur to brood on his own, the way he undoubtedly liked it.

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><p>The music meandered through the crowded dining room, silky in the warmth of the air, no one paying the creation much regard, save to acknowledge it as a nice touch, some background noise perhaps. The concerto was forced to find its way through air already saturated with chatter, chatter of railroads and dance halls, money and liquidation, scandals and promotions, all of which gathered in a resulting thronging hum of murmured voices, broken only by the boisterous laugh or the odd 'I say!'. Arthur followed his father through the crowd, mingling where his father saw fit, champagne in one hand and the Lady Vivian in the other. She seemed content enough on Arthur's arm, busy making degrading comments about all she saw, person and object alike, and it was all Arthur could do not to turn to her and kindly request that she shut the bloody hell up. Arthur's mind was halved in its usual capacity to deal with the intolerable. He was too warm in his jacket, his thoughts lingering where they ought to be avoiding, and his cock ached so badly he was tempted to run at full flight from the dining room to the nearest bathroom and finish what his father had almost interrupted him doing minutes before.<p>

"Arthur. _Arthur_." The Blonde blinked.

"Hmm?'

Uther gave Arthur a look that signalled he was in severe disfavour.

"I was just telling Lady Catriona of your pending engagement to the delightful girl, Elena.'

Arthur stared at him, then at the Lady Catriona who, most unfortunately, seemed to resemble some sort of troll, her face disproportioned so that her nose commandeered dominance leaving the rest of her features to struggle for light, not to mention her squat physique and the way her feet tried to bulge from her shoes. Arthur wanted to say 'wow', but somehow figured it might be less than appropriate.

"_Arthur_." Uther's voice cut through his considerations.

"Hmm?"

"Good grief, what is the matter with you tonight, boy?"

_I'm horny as hell and I want to return to the room and fuck that steward right out of the tight little jacket he's wearing._

"My apologies, Father. Lady Catriona. My mind is elsewhere."

Vivian was giving him a malicious smirk, he could feel it. He bowed his head and escaped the conversation, giving her arm a less than amicable tug, bringing her with him. She hissed at him about being improper and rude, and he ignored her dutifully, sitting down at their table, knowing he would pay for it later. All Arthur wanted was to get through dinner as fast as possible and then return to the room for some well-deserved relief.

He managed until the dessert course, his mind elsewhere for the duration of the meal, irritating all around him with his estranged responses and blank stares, and he hardly noticed the bruising vice like grip his father gave his shoulder as he leaned In to threaten him with his displeasure. Arthur's mind was on the stirring low in his stomach, his thoughts fuelling it, circulating around the idea of ripping a certain white jacket off a certain someone, wiping a certain smirk clean off a certain face, and burying himself hilt deep and pounding into that certain someone until the entire Titanic heard him begging for more.

When Arthur could stand it no longer, which was, in fairness to the blonde aristocrat, saying something, he stood, excusing himself from the table, the glares of his company burning into the back of his perspiring neck, and he did not even have the peace of mind to bid Vivian good night, nor did he kiss her hand in parting, which would most likely fuel the table's conversation for at least another twenty minutes.

Arthur left the dining room as fast as he could, moving into the main foyer and trying to breathe. He looked up at the dome roof, biting his lip and fisting his hands in his pockets, wondering if perhaps now would be a good time to just jump off this godforsaken ship altogether. He could go now; walk to the hull and just…jump. The fall would finish him, and if not the icy water. Hell, he might even be as lucky to get caught in the damn propeller blades, perhaps feel something before the world went black. Arthur stood, staring above him at the navy sky sprinkled with the clear radiant stars, letting out a long breath, and then he closed his eyes, running a tense hand through his hair, upsetting it from its tidy state. After a long few moments in which a few stopped and stared before continuing in their own obviously more thrilling lives, he decided that offing himself before actually getting off would be rather a shame, that denying himself one of the few forbidden joys he felt in a joyless world before leaving it seemed iniquitous to say the least.

Arthur found himself half jogging up the staircase, glancing at the clock. Ten O'clock. He turned right and left the lounge out onto the upper deck, hands slipping from his pockets as he walked, fingers tingling in the cold night air. His mind began to replay the images that had plagued him all through dinner, a low heat spreading through his abdomen, flushing his cheeks. He gritted his teeth in frustration.

He knew he could not have the one he wanted, not one so close to his father, one who seemed to take some sort of pleasure in defiance, or at least cheek. Rejection at this point in time, in any shape or form was not an option. As Arthur passed his room he wondered if Merlin were inside, if he were waiting patiently for his return, the idea making his chest tighten and his hands fist again. How perfect it would be if Merlin were standing by the door, leaning against the frame, that smirk on his lips and the spark in his blue blue eyes, letting Arthur come to him, his breath hot on his neck, and then the ripping could begin.

Arthur felt cold air on his face, realising he was outside again, and he shivered, his senses settling. Perhaps if he could afford to occasionally dip into the darker and disreputable elements in life instead of going cold turkey on something he had no control over then maybe he would not find himself with such severe cravings as he was having now, the ones that caused him to snap and act rashly. Even with this sliver of reason, it was too late now to satiate himself with mere thoughts.

He found the answer sitting with his leg up on a bench, arms curled around it, smoking a cigarette, and staring out at the sea. His dark hair was windswept across his face, falling carelessly past his jawline, and the clothes he wore scruffy and well worn. Arthur's presence did not go unknown.

'Want a smoke?'

The Irish slur offered Arthur a cigarette, one which appeared from behind an ear. Arthur took it, though he had no intention of smoking it.

'I'm Arthur.' He said, eyes moving over the muscled form before him. Not the body type he'd been near dry humping the wall over, but perhaps that was a good thing.

'Gwaine.' Said the Irishman, catching Arthur's gaze, leaning back with a small smirk as he saw where Arthur's eyes had been lingering.


	4. Chapter 4

**[ Again, sorry for the delay! Here's another tidbit to snack on :) Please review, I love love love getting them 33 ]**

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><p>Merlin sulked on the third class deck, leaning on the railings and staring out across the silky darkness – the waves caressing the sides of the ship as she glided through the water. His life, Merlin had decided, was shit. Not only was he bound into doing suicidal manual labour for overweight, pompous, deck masters, his uniform plotting evilly with his own sweat to make his body as uncomfortable as possible, his future in America likely to bring more hunger and hardship – only this time away from friends and family and familiarity, but the man he should be answering to for the next week was an arrogant clotpole with no sense of manners or decency and for whom Merlin was sure he would endure endless suffering every minute he was forced to be around the idiot. Yes. His life was shit.<p>

For a while Merlin watched the water, and then the few people choosing to brave the cold for a walk on deck. Most were bundled up in crude, patched, wool blankets, huddled together for warmth. Merlin found a smile tinting his lips as he watched a father carrying his young daughter in close to his chest, her fingers twisting in his red beard, his hand at rest atop her equally red hair. She was chattering away to him, words Merlin couldn't quite catch, but sentiment that was all too clear. Her father watched the sea and listened, holding her as though she were the most precious bundle in the world, which, Merlin reasoned, she probably was. The lull of the father – daughter moment was broken only by the occasional yells of the boys behind them, four scruffy lads out with a spinning top, setting it loose over the decking, racing around it in a premeditated game Merlin couldn't determine. They looked frozen, all pink cheeked and red nosed, and Merlin had to smile again as he imagined what his mother would have had to say should she have seen him out without warmth to protect him from the winter chill. Merlin was getting colder now himself, his cheeks and nose boasting the same redness as the boys' were he could imagine, so he pushed gently off the railing and began to meander down the ship, hands firmly in his pockets, trying to make shapes with his breath.

Lazy music, along with the occasional tinkle or burst of laughter, drifted down from the first class dining room, Merlin deluded himself into thinking he could smell the arrogant supper, taste the delighted champagne, feel the warmth of the open hearth. His stomach rumbled. He told it to shut up. If he was going to be miserable, so was it.

After Arthur's heated dismissal he'd gone to the servants' dining area, receiving something bland and mushy (he had the suspicion that it was half rotten potatoes beaten to a pulp) but receiving no utensil with which to eat it. He was further disheartened by the look of delight on some of the faces around him, Gwen explaining to him that this was, in fact, a very good day. Merlin had eaten three bites and then had to fight his gag reflex for all it was worth. The peelings and scraps he was used to weren't half as bad. Meagre, yes. Rotten, no. After feigning fullness he's cut his losses and avoided Gwen's watchful stare, feeling as though she could see through a person whether they opened to her or not, her small, unsure, smile too knowing, and Merlin thought that Gwen could be a friend to anybody, make anyone feel better, just by giving looks like that. He couldn't afford a friend now. He got too attached to people, and he couldn't afford that now, not when their journey would be over in a matter of weeks. Merlin was awful at goodbyes. They tore at him, left a hole in his heart for every friendship made and lost. Merlin was still nursing the crater that had been dug when Will and Freya had eloped together without so much as a goodbye to him. His first attempt at love and his best friend turned heartache leaving him without a thought or a prayer.

The music grew louder, the laughter more obtuse, and Merlin frowned at the slivers of light protruding from the dining room out onto the still black water, his hands burrowing deeper into his pockets. He supposed he'd best be back in the room before Arthur and his father returned from dinner, no matter what Arthur's earlier dismissals had implied. Merlin sighed. He no more wanted to be back there than he wanted to be in the icy Atlantic water, but he supposed the primary option held more promise of survival, despite the odds that Uther Pendragon inflicted on it. Before he could romance the notion of taking his chances in the deep blackness below Merlin turned toward the Bridge deck and gritted his teeth, making his way purposely toward the first class suites.

The change in temperature from the icy Atlantic air to the stuffy heated corridors did nothing to improve merlin's mood. For someone so used to the cold, used to huddling in mere rags and shivering on doorsteps, the heat of the titanic was stifling. His jacket itched as if just to annoy him, and Merlin was sure that the trousers he'd been given were deliberately bunching up around his thighs in a bid to drive him insane. Merlin ignored his traitorous clothes, keeping an eye out for the right room, knowing that in this state he could easily walk past it and be none the wiser, - the last thing he needed now was to get bloody lost in the metal labyrinth. The corridor dragged on endlessly and Merlin rubbed his eyes and wished for the night. He longed for the privacy of darkness, the closeness of his own space, the shroud that hid him from the world and allowed him to just be. Darkness was the one place in the world that was kind to Merlin. He had never feared it, always welcomed it, and now he found that, after that harshness of the light of day, he craved it. Sometimes he wandered at night when everyone was asleep, imagining himself to be with a companion, a friend, no one special. Just someone who cared about him enough to want to walk with him. To hear his voice and share his stories.

Merlin passed by numerous first class passengers meandering down the hallway, most obviously on route from dinner, and he quickened his pace, hoping that Uther, his muscle bound idiot, and his prattish son had not yet reached the unattended room. Merlin knew that he still had reasonable time, but he hurried none the less, wanting time to himself before being assaulted with icy stares and indifferent orders. Making his way down to room 214, Merlin smoothed out his face, took a few calming breaths, and as he reached the door, opened it gently and walked inside.

The living area was deserted, the fire he'd lit crackling away, unguarded, and Merlin wondered with vindictive pleasure what it would be like to see Uther's picture in the paper, named as the man responsible for burning down the greatest ship in the world. Then Merlin realised that it was far more likely that it would be his face printed in black and white and his name slandered to the nations, and so he quickly put the fire guard up. He was about to tend to some of the lesser plumped looking pillows when he heard a thud from the room next door, Arthur's room.

Merlin frowned. He'd assumed the party were still at dinner, the night still having some youth about it. He straightened up, and as he did, there was another thump, sounding much like something heavy falling to the floor. Merlin stiffened. Perhaps someone had stolen into the room? Perhaps the Pendragons were being robbed, and he, Merlin, would most certainly be the one to blame for /that/ disaster. Then he heard it, someone swearing, a deep, gruff voice, a foreign accent, slightly Irish. Merlin's heart thudded in his chest, his eyes glued to the door to Arthur's rooms, and he made up his mind. He took a moment to gather his courage, knowing that confronting the intruder was the only solution in case in his absence to fetch the master at arms the intruder managed to escape, and he said a small prayer that said intruder was not eight foot tall. If there was a God, which there wasn't, the man would be a midget. Merlin steeled his nerves, crossed the room, and swung the door open.

He froze.

So did the so called intruder.

And then they both looked at Arthur.

The blonde was the only one in the room that had not frozen when the door opened. Perhaps he had not heard the knock as the brass handle hit the wood of the wall behind, perhaps he had not seen the motion of Merlin striding over the threshold, but either way, Arthur remained as he was, on his knees before their intruder, blonde hair held tight by a rough fist, mouth wrapped around a thick cock, eyes closed and cheeks hollowed, apparently oblivious in that moment to his rather captivated audience.

The surreal few seconds that had suspended themselves outside of reason and logic soon ended. The Irishman's tension seemed to get the blonde's attention, and Arthur's lips released the cock with an obscene pop, his eyes flickering upward in question, and upon seeing the startled expression cast toward the door, Arthur whirled his head around, the fist that had been holding his head in place having gone rather limp, and Merlin caught sight of his flushed cheeks, red lips, ruffled hair, all for a split second, before all colour seemed to drain from Arthur's face. He shoved himself away from the other man, as though by moving quickly enough he could hide any evidence of what Merlin had witnessed, scrambling to his feet, almost falling flat on his face in his bid to get away from him. Merlin had no time to process, no capacity to comprehend, because as Arthur stood up, the straining bulge in his trousers became more than obvious, and Merlin, swallowing something that sounded stupidly like a choked apology, turned and fled.

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><p><strong>[debated continuing, but that's too lovely a cliffhanger, don't you agree? ;) ]<strong>


	5. NOT A CHAPTER

Hello Everyone!

As the title warns, this is not a chapter. It _is_, however, the promise of a new instalment to this fic which I had almost forgotten about/abandoned. I'm not in love with the way I wrote it but I'll leave it as is and continue... I'll be writing the next chapter in the next few days Hope you all haven't lost interest.

XX

A. Sade.


	6. Chapter 5

**Hey everyone! Thank you for your neverending patience! Short but at least I'm publishing something! I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think :) X**

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><p>Gwaine tossed his hair from his eyes, a hearty chuckle resounding around the shattered atmosphere of the room. He slid his gaze from the now empty doorway to his would be conquest. The blonde aristocrat, who had been so full of inflated importance and ego before, was now shaking in pale panic, debauched and askew, his movements erratic as he tried in vain to right his wronged clothing. Gwaine grinned in amusement, watching the walking bank account struggle.<p>

It was a pity, really. Arthur had been a dab hand at sucking cock, a pleasant surprise and more than Gwaine had expected from his slightly desperate pick up. He knew he should feel sorry for the boy, so uptight, the terror that had written itself across his face at the sight of the cabin boy clearly only a small indication of the enormity of the possible implications, but he also knew that this boy had never slept rough, had likely been handed everything he ever needed, evidently had a bed bigger than gwaine's own apartment back home, and he found that, in that moment, amusement was easier than pity.

He sauntered forward a step or two.

'Just can't find a private spot these days. Help aren't what they used to be.'

The way Arthur's head snapped up only made his smile grow as the blonde hissed at him in barely subdued fury.

'Shut up! _Get out_!'

Gwaine's grin slipped into a smirk.

'Awh, and here I thought you'd be getting back on your knees for me. Thought you wanted-'

'I do not want it, you peasant! This _never_ happened. You got that?!'

Gwaine met his gaze evenly. Only fools missed golden opportunities like this. Literally golden.

'Didn't it? I'm awful forgetful sometimes, it might just …slip my mind…'

Arthur's eyes flashed and Gwaine folded his arms.

'That'll be one hundred pounds for me to keep quiet. Or you can let me fuck you now, and I'll cut it down to eighty five. Since I'm feeling generous.'

Arthur 's hand made a fist by his side and gwaine chuckled, unafraid. Arthur's control was barely in check if the way he was vibrating was any indication. Gwaine indicated his undone trousers, cocking a brow, under no illusion what the choice would be.

'Get the fuck out of here or I swear I'll-'

'Save it.' Laughed Gwaine, zipping himself away and fixing his shirt. 'I'm good at three things. Fucking, Running, and Storytelling.'

He held out his hand.

Red faced, from either embarrassment or fury or both, Arthur moved across the room, he fiddled with a cumbersome safe, Gwaine listening intently for the clicks in case he needed some cash again, and when Arthur returned, notes in hand, he bowed in mockery.

'_Pleasure_ doing business with you _your highness_.'

The blow he received to the jaw was well worth it.

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><p>At the other end of the ship, in icy air and tumultuous thoughts, Merlin stood clutching one of the railings. He stared out into the vast reaching night - the navy blue abyss of eerily calm sea crooned a stark contrast to the storm raging inside his mind. As he caught his breath, hands tightening on the chilled wood, he was transported unwillingly back to the stuffy room, to the staggering sight he'd been presented with, the shaggy haired man standing before the Pendragon son, fistful of his hair, and then, of course, by nature's divine cruelty, the image of the same son's full red lips stretched around that that thick cock.<p>

Merlin's cheeks flushed and he shivered, his body too hot and too cold at the same time. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, groaning deeply before straightening up and trying to take a deep breath. What was he to do now; pretend as though it never happened? Address it? Assure the idiot that he wouldn't run and tell his daddy?

Merlin wondered about doing just that – just to see the look on both the pompous faces, to make himself feel a little better… But merlin knew he didn't have the capacity to enjoy even a moment as amusing as that one might be. The music was dying down from the first class dining room, the chatter less concentrated, and Uther Pendragon would likely be returning to his room soon which meant Merlin ought to be there to tend to any needs he may conjure.

When he arrived back to the suite it was empty. He made sure all was in order in the adjoining rooms and main living area and then tilted up and down on his toes for a moment or two, wondering if he should stand there and await someone's arrival, or wait in his shoebox of a room to be summoned. He decided on the latter, reasoning that he could hardly be expected to stand there for hours on end just to be sent away when his employers went to bed.

The dim light of his cabin comforted him, the close space less suffocating than it seemed, and he sat on the bed, rubbing the neck, looking forward to the few hours' rest he would be granted soon. Merlin wasn't sure when or how he had fallen asleep, body heavy and slumped against the wall by the bed. He awoke to an angry voice from through the thin door, pulled from sleep too quickly, disorientated. It took merlin a few moments to remember where he was and how he got there, feeling a little sick until his body and mind joined in the same place and time.

Uther's voice only got louder, throwing insults about insolence to someone or no one, and merlin realised they were more than likely about him and his absence from his duties. He scrambled up, rubbing his eyes and the drool from his chin, and with little grace, he stumbled from his room, mouth starting to work before his brain had fired the starting pistol and said go.

'Sorry Sir I was just, I mean, I didn't know if- I just thought I should- uh…'

Uther's glare silenced even Merlin's runaway train of a mouth. Merlin glanced at the bulk that was creating a shadow over half the room, valiant sneered back. Uther took a step forward, saying 'You are to be here when I or anyone else in this party returns unless told otherwise. Is that clear?'

'Even in the middle of the night?'

Uther's eyes flashed.

'Even at sunrise, boy. '

'Right.'

Merlin held his gaze as long as he dared, and Uther muttered something about going to bed, Valiant stalking after him, and as they disappeared, Merlin sagged. The emptiness of Arthur's room seemed to be mocking him. Merlin looked longingly at his own door, aching to just lie down and sleep, knowing it was unlikely the Pendragon heir would be returning in a hurry.


End file.
